


Breathe Me

by fewthistle



Series: Lawyers in Love [2]
Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/F, non-incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 03:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1841821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fewthistle/pseuds/fewthistle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. Anna and Elsa have been in a relationship for nearly a year when Anna’s boss, Hans, fires her. It’s just that Anna’s not sure what that relationship is. Non-incest. Anna and Elsa are attorneys in Manhattan. Same universe as “Pilgrimage” and “Si vis amari, ama”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is set somewhere between "Si vis amari, ama" and "Pilgrimage", in case anyone cares or is keeping track. "In the Realm of Possibility" is last in this very backwards series so far. 
> 
> Sorry.
> 
> Few

She pulled the edges of her sweater tight across the front of her, a thick cotton straightjacket, the sleeves too long, covering the thin bones of her wrists, enclosing her fingers. Standing on the postage stamp balcony of her apartment, Anna watched as the shadows slipped through the already shadowy streets of the city, making their way covertly across the dully reflective waters of the Hudson, skimming past lonely tugboats, racing fruitlessly with the slender shoots of sculls barely glancing along the surface of the river. 

She thought of taking a walk, but somehow the energy required to put on her shoes and find a coat were more than she could manage. Besides, the last time that she went walking, she found herself making the trek up 51st, to St. Bart's. She didn't know why. God knows, God didn't figure into her life much these days. Habit maybe. Or curiosity. Or some remnant of that great incapacitator, hope. 

The front of the church was lit up like the facade of Macy's, with a huge banner proclaiming, “Explore St. Barts”; as if faith and religion had suddenly become no different than the paintings at the Met, or the monkeys at the Bronx Zoo. Come in and see our candelabras, our stained glass windows, the careful workmanship of another century. Come in and see the way the hypocritical penitent behave in their natural habitat. She had to chuckle. At least they were being honest. 

A fresh chill snuck along her spine and Anna beat a hasty retreat to the relative warmth of the living room, any thoughts of a walk firmly banished. She thought about calling Elsa, asking her if she wanted to come over for a drink, or even take-out, but she couldn't. She picked up the phone a couple of times, even went so far as to dial the first six digits of Elsa’s number, but she could never push that final button. The last thing that she ever wanted was to become someone Elsa pitied. 

It wasn't as if she had some claim on her, beyond the right to kiss Elsa senseless, to catch her delicate bottom lip between her teeth. That Anna had any entitlement beyond pushing Elsa back on the cool sheets of the bed and taking her, slowly, reverently, feeling Elsa tighten around her fingers as she threw her head back, one hand clutching the sheet, the other in Anna’s hair. Elsa’s body was always fair game. It was Elsa’s heart and mind that Anna convinced herself didn’t belong to her. 

The thing was, Anna knew that if she called, Elsa would come over. Knew that she would say all the right things, make all the right gestures. Play the part of the supportive girlfriend perfectly. 

But she wasn’t. Anna’s girlfriend, that is. Her lover, yes. In moments of shared amusement, her friend. Nothing more. They had sex on a regular basis. Anna believed that Elsa cared for her, in her own way. But Elsa was never going to make a declaration of undying love. Never ask Anna to move in with her. Never introduce Anna to her family. Or even her friends. Never hold her hand as they strolled through the park on a warm Spring evening. 

So she didn't call. 

Pride, that was all it was. Like when Anna ran for president of the sixth grade and lost. She didn't tell her parents for a week, not until she could muster the nonchalance to pretend she never cared and only ran because Mrs. Gibbs had asked her. A week of enduring what she imagined were the looks and the snickers in the hallway. Well, at least this time, she didn't have to worry about actually seeing the pointing fingers, the whispers as she walked by. 

Besides, the only looks that she worried about were Elsa’s. So she didn't call. 

She was still awake at one, lying in bed, staring at the horizontal slats of light from the window blind that fell on the opposite wall. One slat was wider than the others, where the cat broke off one end in her quest for a view of the ledge outside, a favorite roosting spot for an exceptionally robust example of pigeon. The feline in question was curled up beside her, paws and whiskers twitching away. Perhaps in her dreams she managed finally to capture the fat bird. Anna envied her the sureness of her fantasy. 

In the silence of the apartment, the rapping of knuckles on the door sounded eerily like the pounding of a gavel. Or maybe Anna was simply dreaming. 

Elsa was still wearing the navy suit that Anna saw her in earlier in the day. Yesterday. She looked tired, and compassionate and a little angry. 

“Why didn't you call me?” Elsa asked without preamble, as she moved past Anna into the kitchen. She flipped on the light and took down a wine glass, pouring a generous amount of Cabernet, with a familiarity that hit Anna with a hard blow in the sternum. 

“I don't know. And say what? Hey, how was your day? By the way, my asshole boss fired me?” Anna asked, an edge of defensiveness to her tone that she didn't intend, but there it was. 

“Anna.” 

“Dammit, Elsa. I didn't know what to say. Part of me feels disconnected from the whole thing, like it happened to someone else. At the same time, I'm so amazingly pissed at Hans for being such a lying, hypocritical S.O.B. I'm so hurt that Kristoff didn't even stay to witness my dismissal, or to offer me a drink before I left. And the last thing that I wanted was for you to feel like you have to comfort me, or feel sorry for me,” Anna blurted out, the tears that she had been holding off for hours streaming unchecked down her cheeks. 

“Sweetheart, come here,” Elsa murmured gently, setting the glass down to pull Anna, somewhat unwillingly, into her arms. 

Elsa smelled of perfume and the faint scent of exhaust and fresh air from outside. For a moment Anna allowed herself to be comforted, before her perceived reality of the two of them came rushing back to her. 

“You don't have to do this, Elsa. I appreciate it, I really do, but I don't want you to feel obliged to let me cry on your shoulder. It isn't like we're in some sort of relationship,” Anna told her a little petulantly, her face warm and wet from crying. 

Anna watched the planes of Elsa’s face alter, become somehow softer, more malleable, her eyes seeming to grow larger. She wasn't prepared for the look of surprised hurt in them. 

“I see. Well, forgive me. I was apparently laboring under the false impression that we have been sleeping together for the past ten months,” Elsa stated slowly, each syllable clipped and rigid. 

“We have. Sleeping together. Having sex. Fucking. But can you honestly tell me that it meant more to you than that? That I mean more to you than that? Can you tell me you love me, Elsa?” Anna could almost see the words whirling at Elsa, sharp edged dervishes cutting through space and there was nothing she could do to save either of them. 

“Yes. I can. I do.” There was no challenge in Elsa’s voice, just a statement of fact, and the blue eyes that met Anna’s held nothing but truth. The moment hung suspended, the ticking of the clock seemed to slow to a stop. “Now that we have that little issue cleared up, let's go to bed. You have an interview at ten tomorrow.” 

“Interview?” Anna asked stupidly, her mind still caught on the not quite admission of love. “And did you just say that you love me?” 

“I called a friend at the ACLU as soon as I heard what that bastard Hans pulled, and I got you an interview. It's more of a formality than anything,” Elsa replied, taking Anna’s hand and leading her into the hallway and toward the bedroom, flipping the light out as they passed the switch. “And, yes, I love you, Anna. I should have told you sooner, but I guess I just thought that you knew.” 

Anna didn't reply, just let Elsa lead her to the bedroom, let her pull her close under the heavy down of the comforter, Anna’s face buried in the curve of Elsa’s neck. Elsa smoothed her hand along Anna’s thick auburn hair, the caress gentle, tender. Only then did Anna murmur a response, her words nearly lost in the darkness of the room, and the pressure of her lips against the soft skin of Elsa’s throat. 

“I love you, too.” 

And already it's the day after.


End file.
